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catfern · 10 months

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cowboy!ellie headcanons

pairing: ellie williams x afab!reader

music: roses are falling - orville peck

word count: 1.2k

warnings: fingering (briefly), drunk sex-ish, guns??, yearning and just sappy shit mainly im in a vulnerable state

an: this is shit brainrot bc i've played too much rdr2 and i want ellie to let me ride her cowgirl style. this took me for-fucking-ever because i got acrylics and dropped my wpm from 108 to 67. also if i put out a poll asking what fic to post next would people vote

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✷ cowboy!ellie having the most pornographic, velvet-laced southern accent known to man. drawling out words in a whisper, that reassured wit sitting in her throat with a lopsided smirk. she’s such a tease, knowing how it gets to you, that ‘c’mon, sweetheart, you gonna make me wait f’you?’ after she trots ahead, glancing back at you under the wide brim of her hat. please, trying to make eye contact with ellie after a long day of riding (ifykyk), seeing just a glance of the veins in her neck, beads of sweat sitting in the little crevices as she leans down to her saddle bag. god, her hands!! and she looks at you, that knowing impatience and ‘okay there, darlin’?, and you can’t look at her, your head swimming and drowning in the molasses of her voice and too focused on the up, down, up, down, up trot of your horse.

✷ setting up camp for the night, bed mats a good distance away from each other, and you wake up, fire dying, moon high, and ellie is still awake, hands covered in dirt and ash and rust from her old revolver that she cleans too occasionally. the gentle scratch of charcoal on parchment, her body hunched over, protective like a creature, and when you call out to her, she TOSSES her journal into the dirt like it burned to touch. if the moon wasn’t so faint, you’d see the uncharacteristic blush fleeting across her cheeks, but too quickly, she tells you to go back to sleep, she’s just staying up to take care of the fire. you listen in a haze, and ellie tears out the five, maybe 6 pages?? of rough sketches, harsh lines etching out your body, your smile, your eyes, and stamps them into the cooling embers of the campfire.

✷ if we’re talking historically accurate cowboys, ellie is definitely the type to believe in dinosaurs!! it’s this new, fresh, science fad and everybody laughs at her for it, cause omg?? giant lizards?? nah!! but ellie is so adamant, reading every paper and pamphlet on the subject that she can get her hands on (assuming she can even read lets be so real), and she’ll tell you about it! small, reluctant meanders from more important topics, at first, but you’re kind and you listen to words either of you barely understand, and sure it’s a little bit boring, but she’s happy, and for some reason she makes it incredibly dynamic, crash coursing you on lizards that evolved (a buzz word in all her pamphlets) into BIGGER lizards.

✷ cowboy!ellie, the horse whisperer. she doesn’t teach you to ride, but you’ve never had a way with horses, cantankerous and rough, so you need a lil bit of assistance. ellie will take the lead, letting you rock behind her on your horse, your arms draped around her like common occurrence, and she’ll turn, ‘see? be gentle, she’ll listen. you’re a team, y’know?’

✷ ‘she just likes you more than me.’

✷ her laugh is boisterous, loud, it sounds like it belongs amongst the hills and caverns, like wind against rocks, ‘no one likes me more than you, flower.’

✷ one day, you’re just passing through a small town, nothing more than a few shops and scattered farm houses, and ellie spies an outlaw poster, poorly tacked to the community bulletin board. it’s her, badly sketched, sure. her chin is way too big, nose a bit askew, but it’s definitely her. and you laugh as she presses you frantically, ‘i don’t really look like this? do i?’ and it’s got some ridiculous nickname that definitely over-inflates her ego, ‘ellie 'longshot’ williams (no one has called her that ever) that she’ll parade it around like a medal

✷ ‘aw, love, do you need some help shootin’? don’t call me long shot for nothin’.’

✷ you’d get a bit vulgar, a bit defensive because, yeah, maybe ellie is actually good at shooting, and you could benefit from her teaching. but that fucking nickname, lording over your head with that lilt in her voice, and the childish, goading smile, you’d tell her to shove it somewhere the sun don’t shine and just pray luck guides your bullet.

✷ your now-so-serious scowl eats at her, so ellie has to swallow her boyish pride and shut up, simply falling behind you. gently tapping your shin with her boot to get you to adjust your stance, her hands stretching out over yours to feel out the barrel of the foreign pistol. they’re rough, calloused, unmade for this sort of gentle gesture, but you welcome the heat that they give. with a soft push and pull, like a tide she moves your fingers, your hands, to hold the gun well. her voice is a whisper as she instructs, ‘don’t hold it so loosely. stronger grip helps aim.’

✷ she’s shaking in her boots. a moment like this, tender, with you is scarcely shared. the closeness burns her chest as she feels you breathe against her, skittish but assured, ellie’s finger snaking around yours to settle on the trigger. you go to fire, and the recoil sends you backwards in a shock, ellie having to move her hands from the gun to your waist to keep you steady. you laugh something coarse, leaning back into her without a thought. adrenaline intimacy.

✷ ‘okay, maybe y’need a few more lessons before you get it right.’ it’s a selfish thought, but it cements ellie in that moment, with you just in her reach, and her revolver. she’d clean it for you.

✷ cowboy!ellie doing stupid shit, like taking longer detours to show you the scenery, the stretching fields and great mountain waterfalls, stopping to pick wildflowers (she’s a sap), or taking the extra care to saddle up your horse for you, securing the girth and not letting you touch it because ‘i don’t need you slippin’ on me.’ she takes care of you, out on the road, it’s not an official thing, but you’re off limits.

✷ ellie is kind, but sex with her isn’t. the first time, she’s terribly drunk, playing away her night in a saloon, at a poker table (she’s losing), and you’re sat at the bar, wearing that, and it’s violently throwing her off her game, so she decides to make it known that your presence is an interruption. dragging you upstairs, she’s unkind. ‘you’re not helping my luck, looking like that.’

✷ ‘how do you need me, then?’

✷ she tastes like cigarette smoke, and bourbon, and she smells like the sleek of rain on dry dirt, and feeling her all over you is intoxicating, rough. she’s quick, her lips aren’t soft but rather, a grating possession on your skin, a feeling that swallows you, melts you down in the heat of her hands. she swears, a lot, it sounds like disbelief but really, it’s a bribe. a prayer. ‘dear god, give me this, let me have this, and i will be devout.’ it’s primal, something uncontrollable. drunk, it’s worse. she loses herself in the haze, becomes complete disregard, her fingers inside you without hearing you, just feeling you. lost in you and she keeps pounding into you simply because she’s enraptured by the feeling of you clenching around her.

#ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams smut #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams headcanons #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader

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chronically-ghosted · 3 months

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between the earth and sky (lover, share your road - prologue) series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i

chapter rating: T (series: E)

word count: 1.1K

chapter summary: how Joel Miller's forefathers came to settle the southern plains

chapter warnings/tags: references to genocide (human and animal), racism

a/n: Miller County was a real place!

Vincente Ramón Morelos with his wife María Guadalupe Rodríguez Saldaña went in search of a better life in 1848.

Exhausted from the bloody revolution against Spain, then the devastating loss at the hands of white “rebels”, the childless couple leave the southern hill country by the San Antonio river to go north, to find peace, in a place that the Anglos have never touched — so promised Señor De La Cruz, a former comandante like Vincente, who shared his dream of wide, open spaces, and a sky that stretches into infinite possibilities.

This land they marched across, with its barren trees and flat golden spreads, is nothing like anything they’ve ever seen before. The wagon chain the Morelos follow whispered in hushed, awed tones. María reached out the side of the wagon, letting her hand brush against brown thistles, watching how the reed springs under her fingers, how it tickles her palm. She never knew the earth could be so soft – teasing her with some great secret it’s eager to share. She looked to her husband and he glowed beneath the rich blue sky and bronze sun. Maybe this was God showing her how to fall in love with a new home.

Towns became few and far between. In a transitory cattle town, Vincente listens to two vaqueros tell stories over a loose game of poker about a briefly-disputed patch of land, five hundred miles east, one that exchanged ownership three times before disappearing into obscurity. But a single name settled permanently, before its township ever could: Miller County. Vincente quietly related to that blurring of identity, a loss of a permanent place to be known and loved, so when going through towns of white Texan Anglos that distrusted his olive skin and aquiline nose, he told them his name was Vincent Miller and he was, like all others, looking for a place to call home. He found it north of what would become Amarillo, and south of what would be Dalhart, between the Canadian and Red River, rivers that never seemed as endless and deep as the Gulf from his childhood.

By the spring of 1852, Mary (formerly María) and Vincent, established on their acre of land, had welcomed two girls and were expecting a third child, who ended up being a boy. This boy was given the name John (though his mother called him Juan at home) Tomás Miller, after Mary’s grandfather. As a boy, John learned from his father Vincent to listen and trust the Kiowa, the Comanche, the Gods of the Grass Sea, who were said to have been born with a heart of a buffalo. Who walked with prairie chickens and raced the pronghorn antelopes. Recognizing a kinship with nomadic blood of the Millers – once Morelos – the Comanche taught them what it meant to use the land as one uses a brother for support. Use in kind, but treat just as kindly. Avoiding what the Anglos referred to as “dry farming” because it was only the Anglos who believed, by sheer force of will, they could make rain come down from the sky. The Comanche were shocked by their arrogance. As he grew older and stronger beneath that heavy sunshine that had endeared his mother to these foreign lands, John maintained his father’s relationship with The First People, even aiding them in keeping the encroaching Anglo homesteaders off the lands of the buffalo and the blue grama grass.

When John married in the summer of 1885 a woman whose skin burnt easy in the sun, but had hands rougher than a sailor’s, Vincent was surprisingly happy for his son, because Jennie Sarah Hansen was quick-witted, brave, and possessed a rare quality when it came to the regards of the Tejanos and The First People – compassion. Disowned by her own family for such a trait, Jennie came to live with John, his father Vincent, his mother Mary, with letters from John’s two sisters and their families coming from down south every month.

Joel Ramón Miller was born in the late fall of 1891, followed shortly there by his brother, Tom – Tommy, because Tom was too serious for a boy with a smile like that – and the lineage of working under blue skies in endless dunes of buffalo grass was passed down, third generation of Vincent, who lived to see his oldest grandson turn five before quietly, with dignity, leaving this world in his sleep.

Tommy Miller continued to look towards the sun and, as a young man, followed it west. But Joel, like his father, like his grandfather, like the land itself, kept watch over the ones he loved from the porch of that a-frame house, the one his father built for his mother. For a time that included a woman with dark skin and darker eyes out of Alabama. And then it was just the baby who came from her, who came from him. Sarah, named after his mother who was as fierce and resilient as the buffalo grass and as beautiful as the endless sky.

As far as Joel Miller was concerned that was enough. The two of them – him and his babygirl, with the plums and the maize, and the secrets of this wide wilderness handed down in partnership from the Comanche and the Kiowa, because the Millers knew what to keep and what wasn’t theirs, or anyone’s, to own.

Until the day came when the buffalo were slaughtered by the thousands, and the once great Gods of the Grass Sea were felled, both driven to extinction by a force that held no compassion or concern for the lands it swallowed.

The cowboys over in the XIT, runners of cattle in the land that used to tremble beneath the hooves of thousands of buffalo, started to complain first. Rumbled that no good was to come of any of it; the American government gave too freely; real estate agents and land developers promised too much. Those arriving in the prairie came only for the green that the wheat boom offered, and had misjudged the quietness of the plains for emptiness.

Joel Miller watched as towns bloomed overnight, model E’s rumbled off the new railway lines, and nesters and sodbusters burrowed into their dugouts like wolf-spiders — at the cost of the beautiful, bellowing sea of grass. The bison were long dead, the Kiowa and Comanche now ghosts between the stalks of blue grama, and a wind was coming in from the north.

It whispered to those who could still listen and would heed its warnings.

And Joel Miller, with his only daughter, listened and waited and didn’t like what he heard. First, the drought came. Lasted ten years. Then the economic freefall that blew out entire financial systems on a global scale.

And then, like a ghoulish nightmare, a specter of death that came from the ill-resting spirits of the bison, came the dust storms.

The air crackled with electricity, car radios clicked off, overwhelmed by the static. Ignitions shorted out. Waves of sand swept over the roads. Children were lost and found thirty feet from their back doors, dead, suffocated on dust. Five thousand feet tall, wider than entire cities, this was blind vengeance, a reckoning well-deserved.

And for the first time in his life, Joel Miller was afraid.

series masterlist | part i

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merovingian-marvels · 6 days

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Terp/Thorp/Wierde/Warft/Værft

Most commonly known as “Terp”, by origin a Frisian word, Terps are actually known in a few places. Hang on tight, this is a long one.

The water rich lands of Dutch provinces Zeeland/Frisia (Terp) and Groningen (Wierde) - German regions Nordfriesland and Ostfriesland (Warft) and southern Denmark (Wærft) were in need of such constructions for basic quality of life.

Because the tides could freely enter the lower lands beyond the shoreline, life was to be lived intermittently. When the land was dry, sheep could graze the salt marsh. When water rose, people would retreat to the Terp.

A Terp can be made up out of a single church or farm/house to an entire small village. Concentrations of small Terps making up a village also exist. They are often surrounded by a salt marsh rampart (Kwelderwal).

Terps were made by plaggen. The top of sandy soils was taken out in little cubes, including the vegetation. The plag was then dried and compacted and stacked on top of each other, which causes an artificial hill allowing to build on.

Terp is also the Old-Frisian word which originates the Dutch word for village. Frisian culture allowed to spread because of their specialization in sheep’s wool. With most agricultural crops not being suited for salt marshes, and with the land flooded half of the day, lots of time was spent in producing high quality and highly sought after wool. This made the Frisians and especially the Terp people very rich, as seen in treasures, burials and clerical art.

Lots of Terps have been destroyed for peat mining or lost after abandonment.

Image above: Hogebeintum (Hegebeintum (Frisian), formerly known as Westerbintheim).

The largest known Terp in the Netherlands and Germany with 8,80 m above sea level.

Central is the church, on the right the historic village, the sheep pastures during floods and the encircling salt march rampart. Everything outside the rampart used to flood.

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botanyshitposts · 2 years

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incredibly sorry for the incoming 10 mile long block of text but im getting back into my niche farming history hyperfixtation where i just read a ton of history books and find that all my other hyperfixtations are somehow interconnected (long story) and i cant stop thinking about the american farm history class i took in college where we read 'dust bowl: the southern plains in the 1930s' by donald worster, a beautiful and thoroughly researched account of how US policy and agribusiness led to the dust bowl in the 1930s and how the people living through it were affected depending on their economic standing and the wealthiness of their communities, which ends with a well-written and well-supported chapter on how farm policy changes to prevent another dust bowl completely missed the point of why this happened and the only way forward to prevent another ecological disaster is to rip US farm policy up completely and redo it in a sustainable way or history is doomed to repeat itself, and then our professor must have been like 'oh shit this is too left wing we need at least one Conservative Voice' and the next book we read was 'fields without dreams: defending the agrarian ideal' by victor davis hanson, a greek scholar and raisin farmer who i think is the only person on the planet to die on the hill of 'farming is the best and most moral livelyhood like The Greeks/Romans and everyone who isnt a farmer sucks', which is probably why our professor chose it (the exact opposite viewpoint of worster next to the first-hand account of how the raisin market and 1983 crash has fucked him and his family over for decades, which to be fair is a legitimately valuable historical account), but i also could not finish the book even though im fundamentally against not reading the entire book when writing a book report because he kept going off on weird diatribes and included a weirdly long scene where he follows imaginary(??? god i hope it was because it was utterly unhinged) fat people around a local grocery store mentally ridiculing any food they chose to buy that wasnt raisins and then blamed the moral failings (no raisins and fat=evil, full of moral debauchery) of these poor people literally buying food at the grocery store for the raisin prices being so low and his family's diminishing wealth as a result but also said that the only people who eat raisins are granola-chewing libs (who he also hates) and the whole time i was reading it i was like 'oh god please dont be racist dude i cannot not read this book please just talk about your experience as a farmer without being racist' and then he would be racist or say something else absolutely wild (he doesnt believe that native americans lived on his land before him and doesnt care what evidence says otherwise and is SURE to tell us this) and then he bragged about building a physical wall around his home 'for defense like The Greeks/Romans' and anyway i just stopped reading and wrote the report and then went on his wikipedia page a few days later and was like yeah this tracks, this seems like the logical endpoint of this deranged california raisin farmer

#not plonts #books #fatphobia /

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the-monkey-ruler · 11 months

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how hardworking is bajie in the novel? fanart gives off the impression that he’d rather do anything but work

And he WOULD! HE DOES NOT LIKE TO WORK! Rather nap and kick back.

But honestly, next to Wukong, he does do the second most amount of work when it comes to fighting demons and getting food.

Don’t get me wrong man will complain the whole time while doing it but he is a competent fighter in many regards. Man was the Marshall in Heaven that only answered to the Jade Emperor himself, a navel officer so he knows a thing or two about fighting and tactics he just doesn't apply himself often. Not since being pig shaped.

There are many times he was the one to fight demons alongside Wukong, sometimes they even coordinate attacks with one another to get the drop on their enemy.

He was able to kill Princess Jade Face, Great King Fox Number Seven, the Wansheng Princess, all six of the tree spirits, White-Faced Vixen Spirit, King of the Southern Hill, King of Heat Protection, and King of Dust Protection. That isn't even included in the assistant kills that helped with Wukong and in enemies such as the Pythron Demon.

Funny enough he gets pretty protective of Sanzang when it comes to him being sexually harassed as well. I like to think that is his own personal turning point when it comes to respecting other people's boundaries.

But also he 'sacrifices' himself for Sanzang's place XD

I've always read it as it's more of a threat than a promise. Because he also knows that women won't go for him being a pig. Which is a little sad but also him using his appearance to his advantage to scare women in the Women's Kingdom. Says he won't be turned into a fragrant bag cause no one would even want him.

The main reason he is so antagonistic is that he IS THE CLOWN. There is a scene Bajie is being cooked by a GAINT streamer and he complaining he is going to come out wrong if the fire tenders (that Wukong is stopping) don't cook him RIGHT. Also that Bajie knows Wukong in diguse by seeing his cheeks and thinking "I KNOW THOSE CHEEKS ANYWHERE!"

Literally, his role in the book is to make laughs and to be the verbal and literal punching bag. Wukong himself is funny, absolutely, but he needs someone to play off him as well. It is very like that one group of Abbott and Costello vibes in some scenes where they just verbally poke on one other, and often there are cases were they pull pranks. Mostly Wukong at Bajie but still.

Like Wukong letting Bajie get captured by an enemy just so he can save him later. HE DOES THIS TWICE. He was mad Bajie thought he died (legit thought he died) in the first one and he took money from Bajie the second time he saved him XD told him it was the 'groups' money and they should share.

And I know people give Bajie hell for being a shit to Wukong but also… Wukong is ALSO a shit back to him. Wukong isn't one to be walked over and he definitely has his fair share of making Bajie feel that revenge for being a shit in the first place. They are shits to each other. Which makes them ever more enjoyable. Wukong is even the one to put a paper saying "I can heal the king" in Bajie’s back pocket when he falls asleep FACING THE WALL NOT TO SCARE ANYONE WITH HIS FACE. Man was legit trying NOT to get into trouble and Wukong knew this was going to be hilarious.

HE WAS PRANKED.

Also Bajie carrying Wukong thinking he could 'trip' and send Wukong flying. But Wukong anticipated this and made a clone of himself to be on Bajie so when he trip the clone drifted away as Bajie and Wujing just looked on in horror as their brother MELTED before their eyes. And Wukong turning into a woodpecker to peck at Bajie to wake him up.

That one was elaborate.

He does have some good ideas even from time to time despite his laziness. He knew how to get Bailong to walk across ice safely and for once USED THE RAKE AS A RAKE to clear a forest. Also that he knows a bit about farming because he was a farmer for a least three years with the Gao family.

So again he is capable and knows a bit despite his ignorance in other matters he just hates to admit he is wrong and hates to admit even more when he can’t do something. Which is hard to do when you are working with someone with MUCH more knowledge and power like Wukong.

I really think that Bajie looks up to Wukong while also being incredibly jealous of Wukong as well. That he relies on him as a companion but lets his own insecurities and jealousy get in the way of working with him, rather purposefully trying to make things harder for Wukong as if to get back at him. But I really think Bajie knows they need Wukong. Even when Wukong is knocked out and unconscious from the Red Boy fight Bajie doesn't believe for a second he is really dead, rather just going straight into reviving him. He also tells others they should treat him with high respect, make it sound like Wukong is danger but also that he is just so powerful in general and that he deserves to be regarded as such.

I don't think it's a coincidence that Bajie is the one after Wukong's first banishment that he has to go get him to save the rest of the group. Because he is the one that messed up by convincing Saznag Wukong was lying. But he also knows they can't do this journey without Wukong. He might be big talk but I think he's going to get Wukong was a humbling moment for him too cause he knows they are going to lose. Another way he shows that is when he thinks Wukong really dies he gets MAD. Because he knows now there is no chance, they are really going to DIE and he is upset.

I still think that Bajie just wanted to get back at Wukong for making fun of him in when GuanYin strung him up to a tree after the Ginseng Fruit arc. But he really didn't know what the fillet implies as he has never seen it used until then. It doesn't make it right but I do think it explains himself a bit more.

And even when Bajie went back to get Wukong, Wukong gave him a tour of his mountain AND STILL pulled a fast on him by having him think he wasn't coming when he was right behind Bajie the whole time. He just wanted Bajie to sweat a little longer. But there was something about Wukong having Bajie see how whole home and what he is leaving but also that Bajie really enjoyed seeing where he lived… even if the Little Suns threw Bajie around like a sake of flour weighing nothing… BUT HE STILL HAD A NICE TIME.

Bajie seems to have a lot of faith in his brothers, even if he rather run away and avoid a fight altogether because he is a bit of a coward he is more often overconfident on taking on demons with his group.

But when he thinks Wukong might actually die after they think they lost Sanzang to a demon he tells him he can't else they will have too much to grieve. And how he only feels confident in battle when he knows Wukong is behind him. I do love it when Bajie and Wujing look on in awe at Wukong and his power he thinks they might be gossiping about him and gets suspicious, leading to another prank.

And I feel like he gets that kind of confidence only later throughout the series, where he actually stops trying to divide the luggage when things go bad and tries to see to the end of the journey to get the scriptures. He is still a lazy guy that rather sleep and eat all day but he gets a bit better along the way, participating with his party in the journey and starting to see the goal to attain the scriptures as something he also wants to and actually trying harder to prove that to himself. It takes him a lot longer than Wukong and even Wujing but I think he really comes around to being a team player.

This kinda turned into a Bajie apologist post but I just really love this pig. He is a lazy asshole that starts shit he needs a good slice of humble pie because he cares a lot

#anonymous #anon #anon ask #jttw #journey to the west #xiyouji #Zhu Bajie #honestly I could’ve kept on going but Tumblr only allows for 30 pictures #Felt like I was being a little bit too much by then #but there a reason Bajie has like his own solo TV shows and movies #He’s just… loveable in his a weird way #he a sad clown #that could be given so much room for charcater #he lazy bastard I enjoy #takes a long time for him to stop trying to break the party anytime Sanzang kidnapped #but honesly Wukong and Bajie are the best duo #I think I have a meme where it’s like Wukong fighting DBK trying to reason with his sworn brother #but dbk it’s just been a dick and Bajie comes up and helps Wukong beat his ass #like friendship with dbk ended #new friendship with Zhu Bajie has started #YOU COULD PUT SO MANY EMOTIONS INTO THIS PIG #1996 Bajie is peak for being lovesick fool vibes and absolutely going through a whole charcater arc to see the error of his ways after #✨ traumatize✨#he is lazy but he does try #he usually fails though #next to Sanzang Bajie gets kidnapped the most #everyone keeps trying to eat him as well and I know it’s because he’s a pig #This is why he complains of how to be eaten #ask

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cr1mson5returns · 7 months

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I fell down a sudden and spiky rabbit hole wondering where exactly in my home state of Kansas the fictional town of Smallville is supposed to be. I checked the DC Wiki for comic book information and got nothing. Kinda pissed me off, because I didn't want to have to randomly assign a plot of land to Smallville. But when I checked the Smallville Wiki (TV series Smallville, that is), I found out that the show gave it the zip code which corresponds to Chase, KS. Chase is in Rice County, which is a few hours west of Wichita on the highways, putting it pretty solidly in South Central Kansas.

And guys.....as a bitch who was born and raised in South Central Kansas, you have to know that we're some characters out here. I can't speak for Rice County, never lived there, but there's this hilarious smattering of accents scattered about the south central part of the state. Some people have that flat Midwestern/Wichita way of speaking, where you can almost pretend they're not Midwestern if they didn't unironically say "lemme just squeeze by ya" so much. But other people have that Rural Kansas drawl that isn't quite as Southern as you can hear the closer you get to the Ozarks, and despite that you'd still be able to pick them out in a crowded room because they sound a touch out of place amongst everybody else. They say "color" like "collar" and talk about "y'all down on Green Street" and they warsh their clothes while they're drawling some pictures. And that's just the way we talk, don't even get me started on the very rigidly Baptist morality and the tense feelings about whether we should even root for the Kansas City Chiefs since they're Missouri's team, anyway.

Armed with this knowledge and context, I present to all of you: Clark Kent who hauled hay in severe thunderstorm warnings as a teenager because fuck, it had to get done somehow and half the time the National Weather Service was just being cautious. Clark who learned to drive at age 12 on the farm and the county sheriff saw fit not to ticket him when he was 14 and took Pa's truck into town to pick up some last-minute ingredients for a birthday cake at the store. Clark who went to Wichita State for a journalism degree and thought Wichita was a big city and complained about the stupid ass layout of the streets between clearly historic districts and newer developments. Clark who got on a domestic flight at Eisenhower Intercontinental Airport and took off for Metropolis intent on getting out of Bumfuck Nowhere. Clark who comes back to Smallville when it's all too much because the city's great, and Lois and Jimmy and everyone else are just as great, but Kansas has the most beautiful full moon nights and not as much light pollution on the horizon, and he can fly through the Flint Hills and pretend he's a kid again and things aren't so noisy and weird and terrifying.

#i do love my home state but i do also have complicated feelings about it #i think a lot of us who grow up here want to leave forever someday #but then many of us never do and it's not because we're stuck #it's because we found beauty here #kansas #smallville #clark kent #superman #superfamily #cr1mson's thoughts

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so-i-did-this-thing · 1 year

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A good haul today from Southern Hill Farms in Clermont, Florida.

#farm #florida #produce

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twosroos · 2 years

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All Grown Up [Chapter One]

( robert "bob" floyd x fem!southern!reader )

roos says ! we need more bob appreciation. i love him. my boy :) also I am not southern, so i apologize if i'm very off with this-- this chapter is a bit short since it's technically a prologue but I'm not really gonna call it such.

desc: as summer rolls into it's time in south carolina, you find yourself surprised when your old next door neighbor returns-- looking and acting completely different after a few months on the west coast. the two of you have a lot to talk about, after you remember the good times, of course.

fluff, with spicy kissing at the end

notable characters: robert "bob" floyd, and that's kinda all, it's pre-uranium mission time y'all :D!

TWs: underage drinking (past tense), mentions of hook-ups, spicy kissing?

ao3 link ! next chapter

The morning dew sparkled on the sides of every blade of grass in the long field on your parents farm. It's stark, plain green path was dotted with a dark log-cabin themed barn on the top of the hill, leaving around two acres of fenced in land for a few horses, cows, goats, and other livestock to amble about on its right, and about a half-acre to the left used for more deliberate things, like the horse training you'd planned to do today. The soft sound of a low cylinder motor hums as it accelerates up the fenced off path, you're driving the busted up farm truck with one hand on the wheel as you slide your hat-- an old stetson gifted to you from the neighbor-- on your hairline as you bring it to a park in a dead grass spot. You parked off the driveway too much, your mom had given up yelling at you for it.

Looking up, you see the sun as it begins to peek over the tops of cypresses, pines, and hemlocks, letting its golden glow dance on geraniums and indigo flowers planted by the barns entrance but far enough away from the fence so they won't get eaten by the horses inside the barn. The window stays rolled down as you climb out, the morning dew in your lungs as you take a deep breath and start whistling the same song you always do as you begin to undo the lock on the barn. Considering its the building closest to the street, its got quite a few locks on it just in case of any attempted break ins. Luckily, no one has tried in the past decade.

As you swing the gate open, you’re met by a chorus of animals, waking up for the day as you swap your boots for a set of riding boots as you yawn, moving to the side to begin opening up the side doors in each stall to let the animals out. Majority of them leave, ambling out into the grassy field to take in the morning sun. Your horse-- a black-ish brown quarter horse, bumps her head into your back and you laugh as you turn to bump back her nose.

"Relax, Fuego." You murmur as you slip into her stall, moving to open the back gate so she can do what she does every morning-- take a sprinting lap around the place. As she, and the other horses in neighboring stalls do what they want for about an hour, you spend your time grabbing the food, water, and other things the animals need from various locations around the barn. The sun rises higher, white puffy clouds rolling through the sky as planes float idly ahead. you huff, grabbing your riding gear, before theres the sound of a car door slamming. Setting down the saddle in your hands, you walk to the front door, smiling when you see your neighbor's daughter-- a five year old by the name of Molly, patting your horse on the head as she leans herself over the gate and low enough for Molly to reach on her tiptoes.

"Hey, Molly." You call and she turns, a hot pink cowboy style hat on her head as she runs over, her pink boots splashing mud puddles from last nights storm.

"Y/n!" She cheers, grabbing your hand and jumping, "Robby's home!"

"Robby?" You ask, lifting your head to look at your mother, "Floyd's back?"

"Mhm. Got in last night, he swung by the house this morning with his mom to drop off his sister for a playdate today." Your mother grins, "Genevieve ran straight for the cows, she's lookin’ at the calf, right down the fence."

Your mother pointed down the fence line where you could see your younger sister petting the cows and baby talking them-- just like you did when you were a kid.

"How long is he home for?" You ask and Molly giggles swinging herself as she uses your hand to keep her from falling.

"He's back until July when he leaves for a mission!"

"He leaves the fifth." Your mother clarifies and you nod, a soft smile gracing your sun-kissed skin from the time you've spent in the heat of South Carolina. Just like all the years you had spent by Robby's side, the sun had caused freckles to bloom across your shoulders, shown by the skin-tight tank top you wear over your riding pants.

And, oh god, Robert's home.

When he'd left, it had been awful. He refused to tell you why he was moving other than the word 'bootcamp' and you'd had a sort of half argument over it. Though, you could never stay mad at his goofy half smiles and confused squints whenever you said something he didn't quite understand. There had been multiple nights in your lifetime where you both stumbled back to your house after parties, or just drinking in the various fields around your house, climbing in the never locked storm door to crash on the basement couch. Your parents never asked, neither did his. They'd say you were Bob and Y/n, a dynamic duo, never seen without each other and never seen arguing.

But, he'd left four hours after your first time kissing him. Sure, it had been because he wanted to know how to kiss before he moved away from home, assuming the tales friends had told you two about hookups and such in the college experience; over beers in your basement, had been true.

And god, you weren't ready to see how he'd changed after your mother had told him he was in the Navy. And all you could think of was his last night in your house, right before he had to leave for bootcamp. Two weeks after the end of your senior year.

...

Senior year had been the year for the two of you, despite the revamp of the rumor you two were dating, again, and making it impossible for you to find any sort of partner other than each other for every school event, you didn't care. Bob was your best friend, and you'd never do anything to change it. You were prom king and queen, and most likely to marry for tax benefits in the accolades section of the year book. But never once had you kissed, or even romantically held hands.

From your first day of kindergarten, to graduating middle school, to your senior year homecoming game as cheer captain, and his senior year homecoming game as drum major, to your senior year graduation, you were stuck at the hip. Inseparable. You could sit in a room for silence for hours and never get bored, or watch the same movies and shows you could quote over and over and enjoy it. And you spent a lot of time gossiping over stolen liquor bottles from the back of your dad's expansive cabinet, or riding horses thorugh back trails, or taking the farm trucks on joy rides. Bob, despite being a bit socially awkward, was your ride or die.

Until you kissed him the night before he left.

The TV buzzed behind you softly as you downed another shot of Hennessy. Bob shutting the storm door as he sat down on your couch almost immediately afterwards, his lips chewed up like he was deep in thought. You reset the CD in the small radio by your hip and turned to him with a pout, walking across the room to fall by his side like natural as you hand him the bottle.

"What's a matter, Robby?" You asked, alcohol still burning your throat. In silence, he unscrews the cap before he starts talking as he gestures with the opened bottle.

"I don't know if I'm ready to leave for college." He murmurs-- that's what he called bootcamp, college, as to not scare you about it. He takes a gulp of the alcohol, making a face at it.

You shift so you’re sitting up, pressing a hand to his shoulder and trying not to notice the way he tenses up and flushes as you speak softly, trying not to wake your parents through the thin walls of the house, "Why, Robs?"

He laughs, taking another long swig before he starts talking, "Everyone else I know who's going has some sort of... ugh, romantic or... sexual, experience and I have none. Curse me being so socially awkward."

"You've never kissed anyone?" you perk up before deflating as you think, "Wait, you would've told me if you did."

"Never kissed anyone besides my Ma." he grumbled into his hand.

In hindsight, you're not sure if it's the alcohol speaking as you sit up and slide your hand on his chest, "would you wanna?"

"Kiss you?" He sputters, face flushing bright red. He'd been drinking before he'd gotten here, you could tell by the smell of Tito's on his breath. It makes you frown, he must've been thinking about this all day.

"Yeah, as practice." You chime, shifting now so you're standing above him and between his jean-covered knees.

He gulps, taking another swig of the alcohol before he caps it and tosses it down on the couch, "and you're my teacher?"

"I've had a few hook-ups, Rob. You know this." you lament, moving closer as you press another hand to his chest, feeling the muscle he'd accrued over the years of working on his family farm, and yours when needed. You expect him to vocally answer, but his hand grazes the outside of your thigh instead, thinking.

You move, straddling him on the couch as you lean close to him, lips inches away, "C'mon, Floyd," you purr, "Gimme a lil' somethin'."

He perks up at the way you say his last name, biting his lip as he adjusts his glasses before he gently takes your jaw and pulls you close by your waist. It makes you jump, a soft gasp escaping your glossed lips as he mumurs,

"Is this okay?"

"More than." You reply, leaning in to connect your lips. It's an alcohol fueled fever, the way he pushes back into you as his lips lock to yours. His hands freezing at your hips, never once moving, you dont mind snaking a hand up to his hair and carding through it, pulling back from the kiss for air before he's dragging you back down again.

But then his alcohol confidence slips and he pulls back roughly, smacking his head on the wall in true Robert fashion. He gapes at you, and you take it as a sign to quicky back off. You can read him like a book nowadays, and the way he sits shocked makes you think you fucked up.

"Sorry." Escapes his lips before he's pushing his way past you and back out the storm door, though he still makes sure to carefully shut it a certain way so it doesn't creak or bang as it closes.

You're left with a bottle of half-finished hennessey and the taste of Tito's on your lips-- too confused and shocked to move for several minutes.

When you realized he left the next morning, you also realized that kiss was the last fleeting memory you'd ever have of him in that moment. Though, hindsight would say, it wouldn't be too long until you found yourself in that position again.

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert floyd #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x you #fluff

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sandandstarz · 1 year

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Love You No Matter What

Daryl Dixon x Transmasc!Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, dysphoria, unsafe binding methods, mentions of transphobia? Reader being insecure, horribly written southern accent, ooc daryl? sorry this is kinda bad

Sorry about this being kinda rushed I just had the idea and wanted to wright smth self indulgent.

The hot Georgia sun beamed down onto the broad shoulders of the man next to you, beads of sweat forming on the flexing muscles of Daryl's arms. Your eyes unfocusing from the fence of a pigpen you two were working on guiding to admire him, they trailed up from his arms to the collar of his worn tank top. The fraying seams giving way to his neck and the edges of his unruly dark hair, all the way up to his stormy eyes.

Slightly shaking your head, you tried to concentrate on the task and hand to get out of this heat as soon as possible, and not on the captivating sight of your boyfriend.

You had harbored feelings for the southern man since the second he pulled you away from a herd of walkers at the quarry camp. He had felt the same way, enthralled by the way your eyes caught the sun rays like stained glass, the small scars that littered you like the words on a novel and, he could have gone on forever, but he would never admit out loud. It hasn't been till the fall of the CDC that you both truly realized your feelings for each other were mutual. From that point on you had an unspoken bond, not a label, it didn't matter in the apocalypse, but you were together, a packaged deal. After sleepless nights on the road, the scare of his brush with death at the farm and whispered conversations in your shared cell in the prison walls, you and Daryl were nothing if not in love. Yet out here in the striking heat of the prison courtyard, a spike of pain from your ribs right under the tightly wound bandages of your chest was a stark reminder of the one thing you were too scared to divulge to the man who knew everything about you.

The fence finally completed, rose to his feet, offering on hand to help you and your accompanying tools up with him.

"Y'all right there?" his southern drawls laced with a hint of worry and you wobbled a bit on your feet.

"It's nothin', just lost my balance a bit" you smiled at him, a bit of a laugh in your voice as you saw the way his bangs stuck to his sweat covered forehead in a heart pattern.

"Good, can't have yeh' gettin sick out here cus of some bastard sun" He placed the tools into his own hands and you two trudged up the hill the cold prison walls. Just imagining the cool stone and water that waited for you there was putting a pep in your step.

Entering your shared cell you flop onto the bed, arms stretched above your head to relieve some of the pressure on your shoulders after the day's work as the taller man beside you goes to lay next to you. Even though you love him with all your heart you still throw the pillow at his face.

“Shower first dirt man”

He shoots you a mock offended look before giving you a kiss anyway, and heading on his way to the showers.

“The things i do for you” You can hear his slightly annoyed tone under his breath as he leaves and you smile.

Now alone in the makeshift room that is the prison cell you close the curtain in front of the barred doors as some sort of privacy. Peeling your shirt off slowly the bandages you had been using since the beginning of the end wound tightly around your chest where now revealed. Angry red marks peaked from tier edges as you tried your best to ignore their stinging. Untying the knot of the bandage gingerly you began to unwrap the cloth, each time relieving a bit of the pressure on your ribs but increasing that feeling of dysphoria uneasiness that settled in your stomach. It was slow, each layer of bandages painstakingly unraveling into your hands. Too focused on the task at hand the heavy footsteps growing closer in the prison hallway reminded you of the unknown to you, until the jerk of the curtain being pulled aside brought you back into reality. Holding the portion of unraveled cloth close to your still bound chess you stared into Daryl’s eyes like a deer in headlights.

His dark hair still dripping slightly onto his threadbare tank top, his eyes raked over you in worry, quickly approaching you even as you began to startle back, there was slight anger in his gaze as well, scaring you even more than he had startled you.

“Y/n wha’ happened” His voice was stern with the slight hint of fear he had used anytime you were injured.

“Did this happen on the last run? We gotta get you to Dr. S” He again walked over to reach for you, not understanding the way you slightly cowered with your arms firmly gripping your upper torso.

“Daryl I'm not, I'm not hurt it ok, dont worry Im fine '' The words stumbled out of your mouth with a tint of fear and uncertainty you'd never used with him.

“You got bandaged coverin half your body can you expect me not to’think your hurt!” His tone raised slightly and you knew he was worried, but you couldn't tell him, you didn't know how.

Your eyes started to wet as you sunk to the floor, you were strong, you always were, but with this it felt like a hit to the back of your knees. You could almost feel the hesitation and concern on his face when he knelt down next to you.

Daryl was never good at comforting people, but seeing you on the verge of tears he was trying his best. Your body stiffened slightly when one of his strong arms wrapped around your back, but you melted into his touch quickly as his rough voice spoke with a softness barely anyone had heard.

“S’alright sweetheart, m’sorry for yellin” Your brain almost couldnt for the words to tell him it wasn't his fault, he had done nothing.

“D, it isn't that” Your voice wavered in the conversation you were starting.

“I really ain't hurt, it's just..” Trailing off your words got caught in your throat, it was almost petrifying. You knew Daryl, you knew he was accepting, that he would do anything for you, but that fear of rejection’s grip was tight on your heart. The confused tone in his voice was evident as he ushered you to go on.

“I wasn't born like you,

like a man”

The words escaped your throat, strangled and painful, shaking at the thought that this could be it, he wouldn't be ok with it, it would be the end of everything you've fought so hard to build together.

“Oh sweetheart” His voice was softer than you anticipated, his calloused hand holding your face up with a touch gentler than a down pillow. Your teary eyes met his stormy blue ones and you could almost see every emotion, every unsend word, every feeling he held onto behind them. Your faces close, he sounded almost like a whisper.

“That ain't stoppin’ me from loving yeah” You could have died happy right there, tears breaching the border of your eyelashes and flowing down your face, your lips formed into a smile, it was ok, he was ok with it, he's not mad.

Daryl's gaze turned to worry at your sudden crying but your hands not matching his own on your face you lips met. The closest you could have been to your hearts being connected the kiss was soft and passionate and you couldn't have thought of a better outcome.

Fun fact of the post:I just got a super cute hellokitty airpod case (^-^)

#twd fluff #twd angst #twd #daryl dixon #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon fluff #twd transmasc #transmasc reader #trans reader #twd trans

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burins · 8 days

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happy Sunday a couple people (@feyburner and @try-set-me-on-fire and maybe someone else? if so I forget and I'm sorry) have tagged me in snippet stuff! I still can't write atm and I'm not rly sure when I'll be able to (June?? maybe?? please god let this PT round work) but I have been reading old drafts and I found 6k of ancient catws Sam & Bucky road trip fic that for having been written eight years ago still makes me go oogh. maybe it will also make you go oogh!(don't worry I am not posting all 6k.)

“Steve’s probably told you all about the 30s, right?” Bucky says. He’s sitting in the backseat, right in the middle of Sam’s view out the back. They’re somewhere in Nowheresville, North Carolina, so it’s not as annoying as it was when he pulled this shit in Jersey.

“Not really,” Sam says. He can see Bucky’s silent scoff without even looking, but it’s true. Steve hasn’t told anyone shit about anything. It seems to be his MO. Sam wishes someone would explain to him that the element of surprise doesn’t apply to interpersonal relationships, but probably everyone is assuming that job falls to Sam.

“Really?” Bucky asks. “Nothing? Why the hell am I in your car, then?”

“I mean, he gave me the basics, the two poor little matchboys, y’all had approximately half a penny to rub together, you kept him alive with nothing more than the flame of your undying devotion to warm your little breast, but he didn’t really flesh the story out.”

“Huh,” says Bucky.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sam says, feeling like he might have made a wrong turn somewhere about five conversational miles back, “he cares about you. We all know he cares about you. And when he does talk, it’s nice stuff, you know, ‘Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,’ that kind of shit.”

“Your Steve voice needs work.” Bucky’s picking at the upholstery in the backseat. He hasn’t made a hole yet, which Sam thinks is either a major point in favor of Japanese engineering, or Bucky Barnes is reining himself in for the first time in his life.

“Always open to suggestions,” Sam says. The hills roll out before them. Someone else might call them wide and welcoming. His skin prickles. They pass another billboard for another peach farm. It’s faded from who knows how many years of Southern sun, the oranges and reds gone ghostly.

“In 1937, he almost died,” Bucky says.

“I kind of got the sense that he did that a lot.”

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, he did. This was different, though. We called the priest, and the priest came in and stood over him and said a lot of things about absolution, which was funny because Steve never went to confession after his ma stopped making him go.”

“Really?” Sam can’t help himself. “Sorry, I guess I always thought he would’ve been the altar boy type. What with all the guilt and all.”

They passed a lot of quarries going through Virginia, and Bucky’s smile looks familiar, like it’s been blasted into his face. “No, that was always me,” he says. “Steve was always trying to pick fights with anybody stronger’n him, and that included God.”

“Do you still?” Sam asks. It’s a few moments before Bucky replies.

“I go to Mass,” he says. “I don’t go up, though.”

“Oh.” Sam doesn’t know a lot about being Catholic, but he’s pretty sure the wafer part is a big deal.

“Yeah.”

They pass a field, a strip mall, a large block of concrete that’s either a factory or a prison. Bucky’s plant is slightly too small for the cupholder, and it rattles every time the road gets a little rough. It rattles a lot out here.

“The priest tried to put the oil on him, you know, like you’re supposed to at the very end, but Steve was sweating so much it just slid off him. Father said some stuff about easing his passage into the light everlasting, and he left, and it was just me in there, looking down at this little shit, this little bastard who was half my life. He couldn’t breathe, really, just kept making these scared, choked gurgling noises. It was fucking horrible. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop making that noise, and I wanted him to die so bad.”

There’s a hawk circling above them. Sam stares blindly out the windshield.

“I reached out and I put my hand on his throat and I wanted to press down. I wanted to make it easy for him. He always tried so damn hard at things. He kept choking and I just pushed down, just the littlest bit, and it stopped, and god, I’ve never loved a silence so much in my life.”

Bucky’s wrapped his metal hand around the little pot, holding it still. The rattling stops.

“I let go, obviously. I let go, and he finally fell asleep. I guess maybe I jolted something loose, because he wasn’t making that noise the next day.” He laughs. “Or maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, huh? Maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better.”

Sam pulls left to pass an ancient Honda.

“HYDRA didn’t do shit to me that wasn’t already there.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “It does, though. Because here’s the really fucked up thing, okay. More fucked up than me trying to kill my ‘best friend since childhood, inseparable in schoolyard and battleground,’ even. You wanna hear it?”

Sam doesn’t wanna hear it. He doesn’t. But Bucky needs to say it, and so he breaks yet another of his own rules, and he says, “Whatever you need to tell me, I’m listening.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure, Wilson, sure. I can’t remember, is the thing. I don’t know if I did that then, or if it was another scared kid I killed thirty years later. That sound got pretty fucking familiar after a while. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing. I don’t know. I sure as hell can’t ask Steve, can I?”

#my fic #tag games #catws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #mcu

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fallauween · 6 months

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Edelweiss Farm by Mark Stacey Via Flickr: The Edelweiss Farm near Iron Mountain, Michigan. Beautiful Autumn colors on a rain swept, overcast day create the perfect backdrop for this wonderful farm tucked away in the rolling hills of the southern area of the Upper Peninsula.

#Autumn #Michigan #Upper Peninsula #Edelweiss #Farm #barn #Fall #color #leaves #October #overcast #flickr #Photography #Autumn Aesthetic #Autumncore #Fall Aesthetic #Autumn Cozy #Fall Blog

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anticomedygarden · 5 months

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solangelo marching band au part 3

epilogue

part 1 | 2 | ao3

so. it's been a bit longer than i thought it would be. but here it is. and it's about 3k more words than i thought it would be.

thanks to everyone who stuck this little au out until the end! and thanks for all the sweet comments and replies! y'all are awesome

tw brief mention of vomitting starts at, "He wasn't sure where they were when Will, holding the band at attention…" and ends at, "Horrible and disgusting incident avoided…"

One year later

Nico was sleeping soundly for once when his alarm went off at 3:30 in the goddamn morning, a criminal hour to wake up at if he did say so himself.

He was just contemplating what would happen if he stayed in bed when someone started banging on his door. "Nico! Get up! Will's gonna be here in a half hour!"

He got up.

It was still fucking night outside, so he stumbled around in the dark gathering clothes and his phone, keys, and wallet. Fortunately, he showered the night before, so he just changed in the bathroom and brushed his teeth, then went into the kitchen to make some cereal.

Hazel was already there, having gotten up before him. With dark circles under her eyes and a deadened expression, she didn't look much better than him. "Good morning."

Nico grumbled.

"Same."

And that was that.

Twenty minutes later, they were standing on the street outside their dad's house, and it was still fucking black as pitch outside and probably would be for another four hours or so. Next to him, Hazel was shivering slightly in her band tee and thermal undershirt.

Thankfully, that was when Will's old black Toyota Camry pulled around the corner, only seen by the headlights blaring out across the pavement.

Nico and Hazel walked down to the car and slid in, Nico into the passenger seat and Hazel into the back.

"Good morning," Will said, sounding more than a little groggy. The blond may have been more of a morning person than Nico, but he was very very diurnal. Only awake with the sun. The blond took a long sip from a McDonald's coffee cup before setting it in the cup holder. "How'd you sleep?"

A grumbled non-reply from both siblings was all the answer he needed.

"Me, too."

They drove in silence for a couple blocks. Then Will turned his head to look at Nico and seemed to do a double take. "What are you-stop drinking my coffee!"

"But I'm tired, and it's cold," Nico said as he finished his sip. "And my boyfriend didn't get me one."

Will turned to look at him for as long as it was safe while driving in the dark, mouth agape. "You don't even like coffee!"

Nico grinned into the cup. "It's four in the morning. Everyone likes coffee at four in the morning."

"I don't," Hazel said helpfully from the back. "But I wouldn't say no to some sweet tea."

Will groaned, a sound so full of longing that Nico would've believed he was dying of starvation had he not been able to see him. "God, I would kill for a good sweet tea right now."

"You two are so Southern," Nico said, though honestly his heart was warmed by the little exchange. He was glad that his boyfriend and sister could bond over something, even if it did make his heart ache for Italy a little.

"Yeah, yeah. You're just jealous that you've never tasted real Southern sweet tea," Will said, smiling. When Nico grumbled at him, he added, "Don't worry. We'll get you some this summer."

Right, because he was spending two weeks at the Solace family farm in June to meet his boyfriend's family before starting NRU in the fall. He was actually looking forward to it a lot despite the nerves. From what he'd heard, the Solaces were more like the Jacksons than any of his other friend's living parents, but still. It was going to be a lot. But for Will, he could do it. Maybe. Probably.

As they came up the hill to the school, Will spoke again. "Just out of curiosity, when did you go to bed last night?"

Nico's eyes widened. "Midnight," he said hesitantly. He hadn't done that on purpose, but seriously. What high schooler went to bed before midnight on a Friday night? Even the ones with a 4:15 a.m. call time?

Will's eyes swiveled to him. "That was four hours ago."

"Just be glad I went to bed at all." The last three years, he'd stayed up all night and slept on the bus which made last year's events all the more impressive. This year, he'd surely be more awake.

"Jesus christ," Will muttered, turning the car into the school parking lot. It was already about a fourth of the way full with band kids, so Will slid into a spot a few rows back. "That's not enough sleep."

"Yeah, Mr. I-probably-went-to-bed-at-seven-thirty-to-get-a-full-eight-hours."

Will's cheeks turned bright red. "That's not something to be ashamed of."

This time, even Hazel giggled from the back seat. "Yes, it is."

Will was still grumbling under his breath when they got out of the car and went into the band room. Inside, there were several teenagers ambling around, many of them practically sleepwalking. There were even a couple actually asleep in their chairs and at least one color guard member asleep under a flag silk. Nico was instantly jealous, even though he knew those silks were thin as fuck.

Will and Hazel went to their chairs at the front of the room because those overachievers were drum majors now, and Nico went to get his trombone from the instrument closet and set it by the door so that it was ready for the cargo drivers. When he came back, his uniform bag was already draped over the back of his chair. He frowned, then looked over at Will's spot to see his boyfriend smiling at him. Seeing Nico's eyes, Will cupped one hand in a half heart. In a moment of extreme sleep deprivation, Nico returned it.

More people continued to stream in as call time drew nearer, but Nico curled up on his chair and let his eyes close, at least until his phone buzzed in his pocket.

More than a little dazed, he blinked at Jason's contact.

Jason

Don't forget to go to the bathroom before you get on the bus

Nico closed his eyes and counted to ten.

Nico

did you really just get up to text me that

Without waiting for a response, he closed his eyes, then gave an annoyed curse as he opened them again and got up to go to the bathroom.

On his way back to the band room, he received a response from Jason that confirmed that, yes, he had gotten up specifically to text Nico to go pee. Good lord.

By the time he walked through the doors, it seemed most of the rest of the band had shown up, and Nico had to fight his way to his seat. A few minutes later, Will stood on his chair and blew his whistle to signal call time which meant Nico had 15 minutes to sit in his chair until they had to get on the buses, and that was exactly what he did. Sometime later, he vaguely registered the cargo guys coming in to put all their instruments in the storage truck and then the yellow buses pulling up outside the window.

When 4:30 rolled around, most everybody was ready in their chairs. Chiron, also suffering in a bright orange t-shirt and too little sleep, stepped up to the director's stand and said, "Buses are here! Let's go."

There was a collective groan as everybody stood up, rustling their uniform bags and clomping for the doors. Of course, as a low brass player, Nico was in the back. Hopefully Will got them a good spot.

Eventually, he made it outside into the cool night air, still behind the mob of orange t-shirts. Being the only people out at this time in their little bubble of lights, they cut a funny and kind of eerie sight, but Nico was too groggy to ponder that, so he instead followed the other seniors to the bus and found Will in a seat toward the middle back. He didn't even say hello, just threw his uniform bag on the floor and curled up on the seat with his head in Will's lap. The blond chuckled above him. "Sure, go ahead and take a nap. I'll wake you up for breakfast."

Without further ado, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Five months ago

Nico's dress pants crinkled uncomfortably on the metal folding chair beneath him as sweat dripped down his face, and he worried how he would play his trombone with the salty liquid in his mouth.

He ran out of time to figure it out, though, as the principal finished talking and started announcing names. In front of the band, the sun shining behind him, Chiron stepped onto the podium, raised his hands, and began conducting. Nico lifted his trombone to his mouth, then put it back down when he realized he had a long rest. The rest of the band dropped into pomp and circumstance, tucked away on the side of the football field.

The first few names, Nico didn't know, which meant they must've not been in band. They were barely through all of the B names when his rest was up, so, once again, he picked up his trombone and prepared to play. They hadn't practiced pomp and circumstance much in class, but this was his third time performing it, and it was an easy piece; he let his mind wander.

Somewhere out on the field, his friends were preparing to graduate in their caps and gowns, Jason, class president, preparing to give a speech to the crowd to say goodbye and send them off to the next big adventure, or whatever other euphemism he had chosen for his speech, and Nico was stuck behind a big yellow goalpost, literally on the sidelines.

It was a lot. Nico might even admit to having cried about it. But for once, he'd cried in the comfort of someone's arms, someone who wasn't about to leave him.

The song came back around to the beginning, and Nico let his trombone drop back to his knee. Over the years, the band had picked up the habit of clapping for each walking band member when they were resting, and this year was no different. As the flutes in the front row continued the melody, Nico listened for names he recognized. It would still be a while before any of his friends were called, though.

Unfortunately, that meant he stopped playing just as Octavian's name was called. He barely kept a boo from slipping out of his mouth, but when the freshman next to him - Macy, a strange coincidence - raised her hands to clap, he didn't refrain from lightly touching her arm and saying, "Don't clap for him, he sucks."

It was truly a testament to how much he'd grown into the section leader role (or how gullible freshmen were) that she nodded without question. He may have grinned a little.

Soon, the rest ended, and he was back in pomp and circumstance. The alphabet continued to pass, too, until Hannah Garrison was being called and eventually Jason Grace, met with the raucous sound of trumpet and drumline applause (plus some others that were definitely supposed to be playing) but which Nico only acknowledged with a huff into his mouthpiece and a stutter on his slide. He would feel that one later.

More names, more music. He was still playing when the Ms rolled around, and was thus able to pointedly ignore the announcement of Piper McLean, but his trombone wasn't up when the Rs started.

No, and he quickly realized it was much harder to ignore his feelings when there was nothing else to focus on, nothing but the pressing call of Reyna Ramirez-Arellano, especially not when his entire section erupted into applause. He weakly clapped his hands together, still refusing to look up at the stage.

The next time he started playing again, it was dark outside of the football stadium, and he was horrified to realize that his hands were shaking. He didn't bother trying to play. With the way his embouchure refused to take shape, it would just come out all breathy, anyway.

Objectively, he knew that he was reacting far better than he would've last year, far better than did at Percy and Annabeth's graduation, before getting together with Will, but the knowledge didn't stop the pain. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, but he still hurt, still felt just a little abandoned. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about what the next school year would be like without the backdrop of his cousins, when all their major presences were gone and he didn't get to see them everyday. And it wasn't just them. There were so many other faces he would miss: Clarisse, the Stolls, Rachel. It wouldn't be the same without them.

Leo was the final straw.

When the drummer's name was announced, the pressure behind Nico's eyes burst, and tears started rolling down his face. Somehow, he kept his trombone up, though his hand quit moving the slide, and next to him, Macy shot over an anxious glance. There was nothing he could do to reassure her. He didn't even have enough remaining focus to be embarrassed.

100 feet away, the principal kept plodding along, steadily making it through the list of names until he finally got to the last one - Frank Zhang, of course - and Chiron led the band into the finale.

Thank god. Nico immediately took his trombone apart with the rest of the band and shoved it in his case under his seat, then sat back, rubbing his wet eyes.

The tears were still coming. He couldn't stop that. But the big black empty chasm that had nearly consumed him last year wasn't there. Last year, the abyss had taken hold of him and terrified him, and he'd run away to his dark bedroom to wallow in despair and shame. This year, he could make it through.

The principal got up to say another few words, then introduced Jason, class president and valedictorian. Damn overachiever.

Anyway.

From all the way over on the track, Nico couldn't see his face, or anything defining of his features at all really except a bit of his blond hair. He also couldn't hear him too well, which was probably for the best. Even so, his eyes were still wet when 500 hats flew up into the air, and everyone stood, clapping and yelling and hugging.

The band also got up with the crowd, following the audience to go congratulate their kids. Nico looked around for Hazel, but she was already halfway across the field with her tuba. That at least brought the smallest of smiles to his face.

Trombone case in hand, he almost went to follow her. Then he caught sight of Will walking toward him.

It was easy to fall into his boyfriend's arms, easier to stifle his coming sobs in Will's white button down. He only gave himself a few seconds, though, because there were people everywhere, and he actually wanted to spend time with his friends before breaking down for the night.

But later, after everyone had gone home and Nico was in the safety of Will's arms in his bedroom, he did cry, a lot, and probably came out the other side better for it.

Now

"Breakfast in five!" Mr. D shouted from the front of the bus. Unsurprisingly, he said nothing else before sitting back down.

Nico groaned and sat up, blinking the early dawn light out of his tired eyes. "You said you were gonna wake me up."

When he didn't get an answer, he shifted on the cracked leather seat to face Will and barked out a laugh. His boyfriend was fast asleep against the window.

He took a second to admire how his hair shimmered in the new light like a halo. He was not ashamed to admit that he snapped a picture, but right after that, he shook Will's shoulder and said, "Wake up, Sunshine."

For a moment, he didn't do anything. Then, his eyes fluttered open, and he groaned. "Time's'it?"

Nico laughed at his hair sticking up on the window side as Will sat up. "A little before six."

Will yawned and stretched. "That's too early."

"Agreed."

Now that he could see out the window, Nico spied the bus coming up on a rest stop, and he could see that the BPO had already set up white folding tables full of snacks and whatnot.

The sight gave him pause. On the one hand, he and Will had first gotten close at a rest stop, and he would forever be grateful for that. On the other hand. On the other hand. They had been stuck there for six hours, and he didn't exactly enjoy their final moments there.

Before he could sort out his feelings, someone toward the front of the bus said, "Is it just me, or does anyone else not want to stop?"

Laughter rang through the seats, and more than a few people vocally agreed.

"Yeah, we might get stuck all day this time," Nico said, only half kidding. Will snorted.

Despite the trauma of the seniors, the bus continued on into the rest stop and settled in next to the other three big yellow vehicles. Slowly, as some people were still waking up, they all ambled out into the parking lot, leaving uniform bags behind. Most stopped to stretch on the way to the breakfast table, but some made a B-line for the bathroom.

Nico and Will followed the other seniors to the food. Calling it breakfast, of course, was a bit of a misnomer. It was more a display of what truckers might buy from a gas station if they were trying to be healthy: granola bars, fruit snacks, browning fruit, cereal bars, chip bags, and, because they weren't monsters, some fun size pieces of candy. At the end of the table were coolers of soda and water. Nico grabbed a granola bar and a Reese's, forgoing the drinks in favor of not pissing himself in the middle of the parade. Behind him, Will grabbed a bag of Doritos, and they made their way over to an empty parking spot to stand and eat.

They didn't say anything, still groggy and eager to not be at a rest stop. A glance across the lot said most of the other seniors were in the same boat.

It was kinda funny to think that their entire graduating class in marching band had rest stop related trauma. Trauma bonding, and all that.

A couple parking spots away, he spotted Hazel standing with her junior friends. She waved to him, and he smiled back but continued to glance around nervously like one of the buses was about to start smoking or something.

Back in front of him, Will finished off his Doritos, crumpled up the bag, and said, "I kinda hate it here."

Nico breathed a sigh of relief. "Me, too."

"It's stupid, but I'm terrified we're gonna get stuck," Will said. He tossed his bag in a nearby trash can.

"I know." The worst thing was, he meant it.

Will wasn't done, though. "I mean, I'm not mad it happened, because, obviously-" he gestured at Nico "-it turned out pretty great, but I never want to be trapped in the middle of nowhere for-"

"-for six hours, I know," Nico finished for him. "Yeah, I get it." He blushed, preparing himself for embarrassing vulnerability. "Besides, the great thing already happened, so if we get stuck again, it'll never turn out like last time. It'll just suck."

"Right." Will gave him a sickeningly fond look, then a smug grin overtook his face. "But it'll suck with you."

Nico's mouth dropped open as he processed Will's terribly romantic line, and he gently smacked his boyfriend on the arm. "That was so bad, you sappy bastard." Even so, he was smiling.

Will just smirked. "Wanna see if we can convince Chiron to head out early?"

"God, yes." I love you so much.

*Four months ago*

It was very odd being at band camp without any of his older cousins and friends. Objectively, he knew that they had each been there for the same four years and he was about to be, but something about them, following them around and succeeding them, gave them the impression of looming figures that had been there forever, almost like elementary kids thinking their teachers lived at school. They were eternal, perpetual; it was hard to believe they would never be in that position again, harder still to believe this was Nico's last time in this position, though, honestly it helped that Nico knew that Jason, Percy, and the others were asleep a couple blocks over at Percy's apartment because Nico and Hazel had come from there after a sleepover at Percy's insistence

They were at band camp. It was July 25, 9:30 a.m. Nico was the most powerful student in his vicinity since Hazel left him for drum major and no one applied for the other low brass section leader position. He hated it. But he also kinda loved it. But he also kinda felt like the roof had been ripped from over his head, leaving him to hold back the elements, because Mr. D was in charge of fundies for brass today, and his only instruction was, "Listen to your section leaders," before he sat down in a lawn chair in the shade of a large cedar tree.

Now, 19 kids were staring at him expectantly, 7 of them freshmen that had never marched before in their lives. He sighed. "Everybody put your instruments down, we're gonna learn basics."

Now

They did not convince Chiron to leave the rest stop early.

("We have let people stretch their legs this early in the morning," he said, looking a little amused.

"Actually, I'm really looking forward to getting back on the bus and going back to sleep," Nico countered, and Will agreed with a perfunctory, "Yeah." He didn't see why people needed to move around when they were all still dreaming of their beds at home.

Chiron shook his head. "Sorry, boys. Not gonna happen.")

But that was a bit over an hour ago, and, after a short nap, they were now at NRU, milling around, sort of in parade block, while they waited for the marching to start. They were in the middle of Greek Town with frat houses on either side of the road they were standing on. The only difference? Olympus was leading the high school bands instead of bringing up the back.

"Nico?" Reyna yelled from her place in NRU's color guard block. She jogged over to him. "What are you doing in front? I thought I wouldn't get to see you until the end." The other trombones next to him glanced over curiously, then turned away in disinterest, but Will and Hazel, in their white and orange drum major uniforms, walked over to say hi.

Nico took a wild second to take in Reyna's NRU guard uniform: glittery purple sequins, set against bright orange over a short black skirt, hair pulled back into two tight braids. Her face was also covered in orange and purple glitter. She was probably going insane. At least in high school, they let her wear a men's uniform. "Yeah, they put us in front."

She opened her mouth, and Nico thought she was about to tell him something. Instead, she turned around and screamed, "Piper! Look who they put in front this year?"

It was hard to see through the color guard, but distantly, he saw someone vaguely Piper shaped in the flute section turn around, drop her jaw in shock, and turn back around to yell at someone in front of her. Then, she sprinted over and said, "Hey guys! How's band been without us this year?"

"Well, the freshmen-"

"Nico! Hazel! Hey!" This one was Percy, Leo close behind him. "And Will! How was the ride down?"

Before he could answer, Jason jogged over, and said, "Percy, unzip me."

What? Nico almost asked if he'd heard right, then Percy said, "I got you."

Nico's eyes widened, and he looked around the group. Will and Hazel had similar expressions of confusion on their faces, but Reyna, Piper, and Leo just looked amused. Frank came over then, and he and Hazel broke off to talk.

While Jason and Percy were doing...whatever they were doing, Annabeth wandered over, hair tucked up into her hat, and immediately got a look of exasperation on her face. "You two were serious about that?"

If Nico thought she would clear anything up, he was wrong.

Percy finished unhooking and unzipping Jason's marching band jacket which was somehow even uglier than the high school ones: overlapping purple N and R on thick orange and black horizontal stripes. Olympus' were simple orange with some purple whorls. (Olympus had struck some sort of deal with NRU for them to be allowed to use the same colors and logo as the college, resulting in the worst color scheme known to man.)

Then, Jason took the jacket off, and Nico stared. There were chip bags, water bottles, and other snacks taped to the inside of the garment.

"What the hell did you two do?" Nico asked wearily. Will looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"We brought you food," Percy said helpfully.

Nico gestured helplessly. "Why, exactly?"

Jason started pulling the food off the jacket and handing it to Nico and Will. "In case your bus breaks down again."

"Oh my god." Nico almost fumbled a granola bar. "What the hell are we supposed to do with all this?"

Jason stood and looked at Nico like he was the one being weird. "Tape it to your jackets."

That was the last straw for Leo apparently, who busted out laughing.

Annabeth eyed her boyfriend. "We told them not to do that, just so you know."

Will grinned at her. "We figured."

"Oh, and Thalia said she's in the crowd somewhere by Jupiter's."

Cool, Nico looked forward to seeing his oldest cousin. After graduating high school, she decided to go to a local automotive program instead of enrolling in NRU. Her dad had been pissed, but Nico knew that was probably one of her goals. "I'll keep a lookout for her."

Then, he looked down at the food in his arms and sighed, then reached over to unzip Will's jacket to start taping things to it.

Chiron and Mr. D were nowhere to be found, so they should still have plenty of time for this bullshit before the parade started.

When he was done, he looked up to see Frank handing Hazel food a few feet away. How come *she* didn't have to tape it to her clothes?

Then, because they weren't finished, of course, Percy took his hat off, careful of the plume, and took a Ziploc bag full of cold pizza out. "Put this in your hat."

Nico stared dumbfounded, and Will gave him a look that Nico assumed to mean, Your family is fucking weird. "Are you serious?"

Percy rolled his eyes and shook the bag. "Yeah, take it."

Internally cursing every single event that led him to this, Nico grabbed the bag and shoved it up into his hat. The hats were tall but tight, so it should stay fine. He'd once marched an entire half-time show with a Kit-Kat in it.

Finally, Reyna patted him on the back and said, "We should probably all get in line. Good luck today."

The others gave them similar messages as they filed back into their lines until just Nico, Will, Hazel, and Percy were left standing there.

Percy looked at Nico. "Hey, you guys are gonna do great today, alright?"

Nico nodded, confused. "Okay."

"Percy! Come on!" Annabeth yelled from somewhere in the clarinet section.

He ignored her, and Nico knew whatever he said next would be both important and uncomfortable. "We're all really proud and can't wait for you to be here next year." Nico opened his mouth, but Percy turned around and started running away. "Okay bye!"

With that, he ran off, and Nico huffed after him. What an annoying turd. Nico kinda loved him.

"That was sweet," Hazel said.

Nico was about to ask her where she put the stuff Frank gave her when Chiron walked up to the front of the band with two juniors Nico didn't know and Olympus' banner. That meant they were about to start marching. He stepped into line with his trombone.

Chiron turned to face the band, though he was really talking to Will and Hazel. "Everybody ready? We should be going soon."

They nodded. Now, it was just a matter of waiting.

While they were standing there, Will turned to Nico and said, "I can't believe I'm about to march four miles with Cheetos poking me in the chest."

"Same," Hazel said. "Although I think mine are Cheez-Its."

Nico had to laugh at that. "Well, I've got pizza on my head. I don't think any of us thought we'd be here."

Will and Hazel laughed, giving Nico a warm, fuzzy feeling. "Hey, how'd you get it to stay without falling out of your pants?" Nico asked.

Hazel looked at him oddly. "It's in my bra, Nico."

Nico wasn't sure how to respond to that. Thankfully, he didn't have to as NRU's band chose that moment to call everyone to attention. Will and Hazel started their beat clapping, and almost immediately, the drum line started in.

"Band!" Will and Hazel yelled. "Ten-hut!"

The whole band went rigid, everyone standing at attention. For the trombones, that meant holding the instrument horn pointing down, elbows at about a 90-degree angle. Their heels were together, toes apart. They were hyped and ready.

A minute later, they started walking. Contrary to popular belief, marching bands didn't actually walk with their knees up to their chests because that would not only be ridiculous, but it would make it harder to play their instruments. Instead, they did glide stepping which just meant walking with immaculate posture, keeping toes up, and moving hips as little as possible. It was the best way to walk while blowing into an instrument, and the best way to not break a tooth on a mouthpiece which had been known to happen.

They were still in Greek Town, so there was probably some time before they played any music. For now, it was just cadences, so Nico got to watch NERO's color guard. Their flags were just orange and purple blurs. It was awesome.

Eventually, they started playing music: the school theme song and their show song that year, 'We Will Rock You' interspersed with cadences.

They passed hordes and horses of people, many of which were pushing the boundaries of the road, and NRU guard member almost hit a kid. It was all part of the game, though. Happened every year.

They made it into the main part of campus by the library, then looped back out to go into the city. Pizza bouncing on his head, they passed apartments and restaurants, thrift stores and bodegas. At one point, they passed Jupiter's, and he thought he saw Thalia's dark head, but he couldn't be certain. It was hard to parse out anyone on the sidelines while playing.

He wasn't sure where they were when Will, holding the band at attention, suddenly gave him an urgent look and pointed over his shoulder. Nico turned and somehow managed to stay in step without whacking anyone with his instrument, and his eyes widened.

The freshman behind him - he couldn't tell which one it was beneath the hat - was way too pale and sweaty, and Nico knew exactly what was about to happen.

"Step out to the side and find Chiron," he said firmly.

Thankfully, the kid managed to step out of the block a second before vomiting and even avoided all the bystanders. Nico stayed turned around just long enough to see Chiron walk up next to the poor kid. They should be fine, but he made a mental note to check on them later.

Horrible and disgusting incident avoided, he went back to watching Will.

A few more turns later, they came up on the judges' table, and Will and Hazel started them on "We Will Rock You" for the final time. Nico did one last check of his posture and feet, called guide and cover down - they should be perfect.

And then that was it. They had passed the judges' table. The competition was over. They had two blocks left before they were done forever.

It was the first time that thought filled him with dread. For years, he'd been looking forward to leaving his shitty past behind. He wanted to go to college to be with his friends even though he still has no idea what he wanted to do, to finally leave the place that felt like it had been dragging him down. He was endlessly excited to start making a real life with Will where they had the freedom to think about their future away from the pressure and expectations of their looming parents. He already had a dorm lined up with his boyfriend, scholarships, an orientation date, he'd even finally scheduled his driver's test, but now? He was scared. What if he wasn't ready to leave Olympus?

Who was he kidding? The only thing still here for him was Hazel. Memories, old and new, were waiting for him with his cousins. He could cherish his last year here, but even with the overwhelming feeling of an ending, he knew he wouldn't miss it. Not that much, at least.

They turned the corner onto an empty street, one bordered by dorms with a big lawn in the middle dotted with trees. Drumline played the 'end march' beat. They stopped walking and dispersed across the grass, some people already tearing off their jackets and hats. NRU's band continued on toward the football field.

Nico walked right up to Will. "I can't wait to go here with you next year."

Will's eyes widened, clearly not expecting such honesty. "Me, too. Any particular reason?"

Across the field, a clarinet in a blue uniform crashed into a trumpet in a green uniform, sending them both tumbling into the grass, both giggling and shrieking the other's name. "No. I just really fucking love you."

Will's expression went unbearably soft. "I really fucking love you, too."

One week, one day before

As Lou Ellen Blackstone stepped out of the circle, Will glanced up at the scoreboard, lit up bright against the night sky. "Three minutes until halftime."

Nico didn't quite know how, but he somehow ended up in the middle of the circle. Now, he hadn't been planning on giving a senior speech since, honestly, he didn't think he was involved enough for anyone to care what he had to say, but, evidently, he was wrong because what felt like a dozen pairs of hands pushed him into the circle. His first thought was to panic; he couldn't find Will, and he hated public speaking. Then, he caught sight of his sweet, sweet boyfriend and managed to find his breath, even if getting the words out past the lump in his throat after the previous speeches was a struggle. "Hi, I'm Nico."

"Hi, Nico."

Despite it all, he grinned. "I have no idea how many of you know me because I never try to talk to anyone, but, but holy shit, I am so fucking ready to graduate." There were a few snorts, but he kept looking at Will who looked exasperated, if a bit sad. "But I have loved marching band, and I will probably miss you guys."

At that, Will's face took on a proud look as the people around them cheered. He even heard someone shout, "Mr. D-ass goodbye, di Angelo!"

Whatever. He was too focused on the tears in his boyfriend's eyes to care what anyone else thought of his speech. As far as he was concerned, it was the best one, at least until Will went.

And that one. Boy did that one make him cry. It might've been the worst half time show he'd ever marched.

But to him, it was damn good.

Now

"Third place drumline goes to Othrys High School with 89 points," one of the judges, a sweet looking older woman, said as she read off her clipboard to the several marching bands gathered on the lawn. "Second place is Pelion High School with 92 points." Everyone held their breath. "And first place with 98 points is Olympus High School."

Energy thrummed across the orange and purple-clad teens, but they refrained from celebrating. There were still two more categories to go. However, Nico did grab Will's hand in suspense. He was only human.

"Third place in visuals goes to Ithaca High School with 87 points, second to Othrys High School with 94 points, and first to Olympus High School with 95 points."

They were cutting it close with that score but thankfully still in the lead. Nico squeezed Will's hand tighter. The next category would be the decider.

"Third place in musicality goes to Pelion High School for 91 points, second to Othrys High School with 96 points, and third to Olympus High School with a whopping 99 points!"

They still didn't celebrate, waiting for the final call, but Nico and Will did glance at each other in excitement. They won.

The judge flipped the page on her clipboard. "Honorable mention for overall performance goes to Ithaca High School with 245 points; third to Pelion High School with 265 points; second to Othrys High School with 279 points." She paused, clearly drumming up drama even though they all knew who won by now. "And first place with the best high school marching band in southern New York goes to Olympus High School with 292 points!"

Now, they celebrated, jumping up and down and yelling, pumping fists in the air, the whole shebang. They had fucking earned this.

Someone at the front of the lawn handed Chiron the trophy (and it wasn't a small one, either, probably the size of Nico's entire arm), and Mr. D held up a hand. They quieted.

He didn't speak right away, taking a deep breath like he was going to give a lengthy speech. "You did good today."

When it became apparent he wasn't going to say anything else, they erupted in screams, possibly more raucous than before.

Nico looked up at Will and did a double take. "Are you crying?"

Will sniffled. "It's-it's a lot."

"Oh my god, come here." Nico pulled his head down to cradle in his neck. Chip bags crinkled under the uniform. "I'm gonna miss it, too."

They didn't stay like that long, constantly aware of where they were, so when they pulled away, Will's eyes were still red-rimmed and leaking, but thankfully not as wet as before.

The blond gazed up at the buildings in front of them, one of them to be their home next year, and never once let go of Nico's hand. "Are you ready?"

Nico followed his sightline. "Yep."

And this year, their bus didn't break down.

#solangelo #solangelo fic #solangelo fanfic #nico di angelo #will solace #my writing #my fic #pjo #pjo hoo toa #pjo fic

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